The Fires of Orc

It is necessary for me to establish a winner image.

Therefore, I have to beat somebody.

Richard Nixon

Tuesday, November 7, 2028: The first polls closed on the East Coast at three in the afternoon, San Diego time. Exit poll numbers started trickling in to Markus headquarters well before that, but official counts from the early states weren’t announced until after the last polls closed in Alaska seven hours later. American election coverage saturated the world for a full day.

There were a few things we knew would almost certainly happen that day. We were confident we would take California, the biggest prize of all. Early polls suggested we might win fifty percent of the vote in our home state leaving the other half to be split two ways. That would be quite a coup, but whether we got fifty percent or not, we were going to win it. California and all its delegates would be ours and that put us in the position of front-runner, even as New England states started capturing the early news coverage.

We also knew that Smith would win Pennsylvania and Bradley would carry Massachusetts. Again, the margins weren’t clear in either case, but each of our opponents would claim his home state – a foregone conclusion that didn’t matter for our camp’s Electoral College calculus. We didn’t expect any miracles in the states we knew we would lose, we just needed eight states to win and as the clock creeped on past ten o’clock on election night, we began to see real numbers.

We lost in every county in New York State except the five boroughs where we won by double digits. Thus, by winning in just one city, New York was ours with thirty-nine percent of the vote to Smith’s thirty-four and Bradley’s twenty-seven. Commentators seemed genuinely surprised. It was a sign of things to come.

There were more losses than wins for our side. In state after state we put in a strong showing but came up short – a fact the commentators delighted in pulling apart despite the fact that it was irrelevant. I was prepared to lose forty-two states as long as we won the right eight. New York was the first to go our way and Florida came next, by the narrowest of margins. With fourteen states decided we had lost twelve. Nevertheless, with only two wins in our column to Bradley and Smith’s six apiece, we were right where we wanted to be. The electoral vote count stood at Bradley sixty-three, Smith fifty-nine, Markus fifty-eight.

Ah the American electoral process! Of all the bizarre conventions lost from the time before the fires, that one was as bizarre as any. Markus was in third place out of three candidates, both in number of states won and total popular vote tally and he was, nevertheless, in a position to win. The orchestration of outcomes is not always a pleasant composition but to Americans it should have been familiar. Math is math. The network pundits, fools all, were surprised by the sum of an equation that required only the simplest arithmetic. Markus could win the presidency by winning in just twenty-five major metropolitan areas and thus carrying enough state electoral votes to defeat two major party nominees. It was all playing out just as planned.

The projections kept churning, the heads kept talking and the maps kept filling in – Smith red, Bradley blue and Markus green. By ten o’clock on the West Coast, all the East Coast states were counted and called. In addition to New York and Florida, Markus claimed Georgia, Michigan and Ohio. He won in Ohio by a wide margin, carrying not only Cincinnati and Cleveland, but also every other metropolitan area in the state. The few rural counties that he did not win amounted to only a tiny fraction of the votes cast statewide. Every state we had won so far was a must-win and we had won them all narrowly. I had also hoped to claim at least one or two of my second-priority East Coast prizes – Maryland, North Carolina and Washington D.C. We failed in all three. As the Midwest returns began rolling in, we were alive but had not exceeded the bare minimum results required to fulfill my projections. It was still too close for comfort but a script is a script and there’s no since departing from it. With five wins and eighteen losses, we had climbed into second place: Smith ninety-two, Markus ninety, Bradley sity-three.

Markus won in Illinois based almost entirely on the turnout in Chicago. Smith’s demise in Texas in the wake of the Dunlap scandal handed us that state’s bounty and once the Central Time Zone states were counted we had won a mere seven states out of thirty-eight but led in the electoral vote count: Markus on hundred fifty-six, Smith one hundred fifty-five, Bradley eighty-nine.

The mountain states weren’t on my script. I told the campaign principals “fuck Nevada” and I meant it. I could have included the other seven states in the swath from Wyoming to Mexico. There were eight states in the Mountain Time zone and they had forty-seven electoral votes between them – less than nine percent of the nationwide total. They amounted to practically nothing. Seven of the eight were called early, five going to Smith and two to Bradley. Only Nevada was too close to call. With Nevada still being counted we had fallen back into second place: Smith one hundred eighty-two, Markus one hundred fifty-six, Bradley one hundred three.

Aside from Nevada, which didn’t matter, all that remained were Hawaii and Alaska, which also didn’t matter, Washington and Oregon, which barely mattered, and California, which would ultimately decide the whole contest.

Skipping ahead I’ll tell you that Smith won in Alaska and Bradley in Hawaii, but as was always the case for the two states off the map, their votes made no difference.

Oregon and Washington were both in play late into the night. Exit polls were inconclusive and the official vote tally was prohibitively close until the wee hours of the morning. At one thirty the networks declared Oregon for Bradley, giving him Washington a half-hour later. With California still being counted, only two candidates were left: Smith one hundred eighty-two and Markus one hundred seventy-two. With nineteen states won, Bradley was eliminated. His one hundred twenty-two electoral votes concentrated mostly in the Northeast were casualties of perverse political alchemy.

But Bradley still posed a threat. If Bradley won in California, Smith would win the election. At three a.m., with more than ninety percent of precincts counted statewide, the returns were thirty-eight percent Bradley, thirty-seven percent Markus and twenty-five percent Smith. We were actually behind in California! The one state I knew we had was the one where I might be undone. I had underestimated the voters’ independence of mind. In the sanctity of the polling booth, Californians were undergoing a transformation of conscience – casting their solemn votes for a decent, qualified man at the expense of their fair-haired darling. Ten percent of California voters stood between Markus and the White House. If we passed Bradley, we won. If not, we would be responsible for delivering the presidency to Smith. What a bitter pill that would be.

At four a.m. the official vote tally put us ahead 38.3 percent to 37.6 percent. I held myself rock still while my insides churned and then finally, at four thirty-five Pacific Standard Time, all major networks called the vote for Markus. We won in California by less than one percent over Bradley. Tom Markus was the president-elect, the first candidate elected from neither the Democratic nor Republican Party since Millard Filmore, in 1850.

History by machination. We won the eight states I knew we needed and that was enough. As a bonus, a day later the one unresolved contest was called, meaninglessly. Wouldn’t you know it? We won Nevada.

In the end we lost forty-one states and finished third in the popular vote count, but Markus was heading to Washington D.C. as the “democratically” elected president of the richest, most powerful country on earth.

“You must miss it,” says the Landlord.

“What must I miss?”

“Not everything, I suppose. But the law and order,” he says. “You must miss knowing that the world had rules.”

“There’s a lot more to order than laws,” I tell him.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“It’s not a riddle,” I explain. “I mean that all the laws on the books don’t make a difference in a disorderly world. In fact, the law can complicate order more than any other force.”

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Is it wrong for a hungry man to steal a loaf of bread?”

“I guess so,” he says.

“You guess so? The law doesn’t ask you to guess. It demands that you know. If a man has no source of income, no food and three hungry children, should he steal a loaf of bread?”

“Well sure, probably,” he opines.

“Probably?”

“I guess. But why wouldn’t he just make his own bread?” he asks.

“Maybe the law doesn’t let him make his own bread. Maybe he doesn’t have any grain or anywhere to grow it. Maybe he doesn’t have an oven. How is a man with no access to bread supposed to feed his family?”

“Fish?” he asks.

“I’m being metaphorical,” I say.

“I don’t know what that is, but if I had hungry children I would feed them.”

“So would anyone,” I observe. “Even if doing so is against the law. And that’s why law doesn’t mean order.”

“Well then where does order come from?

“Justice,” I say.

’What’s the difference between law and justice?” he asks.

“The difference between law and justice,” I tell him, “is the difference between who gets screwed and who does the screwing.”

“That sounds pretty negative,” he says.

“No,” I chide, “I’m positive. Law and order are two different things and they’re both related but nowhere near identical to justice.”

My phone rang. Some imperious campaign functionary announced, “Hold for the President.” It was six in the morning. I held.

“So how are you feeling,” asked Markus.

“I’m thrilled, sir.”

“I hope you’re feeling proud,” he said.

“Sir,” I said, “I’m feeling very proud to be a part of something so momentous. I’m proud to have played my small part in your victory.”

“Don’t deflect praise,” he told me. “It’s beneath you. I know this couldn’t have happened without you. I owe it to you to tell you that. Your strategy is what paved the way to our victory.”

What a grand man he was. Our victory. I actually felt that way in the moment, never mind the fact that I didn’t even have a job.

“I’m very grateful, Mr. President. I hope you will ask if there’s ever anything else I can do for you.” I meant it, but I knew he would never ask.

“And I appreciate that,” he said. “I wish you the very best and I hope you know I intend to live up to the promise of our campaign at all cost.”

“Thank you again, sir,” I said.

We never spoke again.

At six forty-five that morning, nine forty-five the East Coast, president-elect Tom Markus addressed the nation from San Diego. He spoke from Waterfront Park, a dot of reclaimed acreage in the heart of Downtown abutting the shoreline. His stage rose above the Pacific waters. Aircraft carriers were visible behind him across the harbor. On three sides of the small park, glass and steel San Diego rose above him, soaring thirty stories high, granting an unobstructed live view of the man to tens of thousands of San Diegans and guests who pressed against windows and leaned over balconies – a Secret Service nightmare.

Downtown was closed to automobile traffic entirely. Hordes of the politically interested and pop-culture curious spilled into the streets stretching back from the park a half-mile to the north, south and east. Private boats jammed the water to the west. Water cannons and fireworks animated the grey harbor. Music filled two square-miles of the city, a fanfare for the man who came down from on-high and seized the world’s biggest prize in a contest of common men. It was my city’s finest moment.

My friends, he began, today is a new day. This is a new day in San Diego and I thank all of you, my fellow citizens, for showing the world the heart of America’s finest city. This is your victory and I thank you for letting me be a part of it.

The streets erupted with shouts and chants of Markus, Markus.

He went on: But this new day does not belong to us alone. This new day is a day for all Americans to come together and celebrate another peaceful transfer of power – the fiftieth time in our great democracy’s long history that the American people have selected their own path to the future. Time has tested our system of self-governance but we remain today, as we have always been, a nation governed of the people, by the people and for the people.

A full three minutes of cheers, whistles, roars and applause shook the towers of San Diego.

While we celebrate this morning, he said, we also reach out to our fellow Americans – not only the tens of millions across the country who joined our cause, but also those who supported our competitors. Their sights are also trained on the future of our country. Their views are American views. Their beliefs and principles, their goals and ambitions are as American as ours and we welcome their voices in the dialogue that will carry this country forward.

We Americans are a great people not because we always agree, but because we work together to find common ground even when we disagree. I am proud to be the president-elect of this great country and of all Americans – those who voted for me and those who voted against me. I pledge to work each day to advance the shared interest of all of us and invite voters from the other two camps to get in touch with my transition team. Share your views on Markus.com. Tell us what you want to see from this administration. You don’t have to agree with us but I hope you will get involved.

From there it went on in conventional acceptance speech terms. He thanked his team. He talked about his first hundred days. He credited his opponents with running good races – all the usual stuff. But as he spoke, unrest was already being felt in cities all around the country.

In our solid twenty-five cities things were generally celebratory. Elsewhere, however, in real corners of America where real Americans still held real American values, trouble simmered. The process of electing a president was never a mystery, never well hidden from public view. It was a process fueled by cash, piloted by masters of media communication and navigated by strategists who could count electors. All the rest was window dressing. Given the inherent openness of the American process, one might assume that the aftermath of an election would be quite a let-down. There should have been nothing surprising about the morning after an election.

But to Americans in 2028, people who still believed the myth of themselves rather than the obvious truth, watching a man ascend to presidency after losing forty-one states and more than seventy percent of the popular vote was more than credulity could bear. There were protests throughout the South, many in the Northeast, and in some towns protests escalated to near riots. The weeks leading up to his inauguration would be hell for Markus. Notwithstanding his historical achievement and his ingratiating speech-making, he most certainly was not the people’s choice.

But that morning following the election the sun lit a new San Diego in a new America. I knew that just a few blocks away a party raged. Campaign staffers, volunteers and hangers-on had been going all night and the revelry continued. I couldn’t join them. It was over for me.

I did reflect for a moment on my success. Even a Machiavellian, quantum-optimizing vote fixer is a human being. Pride is not beyond me now and was not then but, and I admit this at the price of extreme corniness, pride counted for nothing without Lydia to acknowledge it. I had not realized until that moment that she had become the biggest reason I wanted to win. I thought my final victory would validate my methods and win her approval. With hindsight I know that even if she had lived to see it she would have disapproved.

It was all… empty, I suppose. That’s the only word for it. The biggest single achievement of my life and it was perfectly empty. I made a lot of money. I won the biggest game of all. I did the undoable and in the end I didn’t really care. I was left completely hollow with no one to praise me for my conquest. Markus was gracious, but even his thanks were empty.

The peak of accomplishment is a lonely place. I cried.